Valerius’s eyes narrowed. “Impossible,” he muttered. Aren tilted his head. “Is it?” Valerius’s hands clenched. His pride burned. He had never been dismissed like this—never been treated as beneath notice. “I’ll show you!” He released more of his power. The gravity surged. 100 times. 200 times. 300 times. The air felt like stone. The mana-reinforced concrete beneath Aren’s feet began to crack—his weight at a single point now virtually 20,000 kilograms. And still—nothing. Aren’s expression didn’t change. Not a flicker. Not a twitch. He stood there as if the gravity was nothing more than a gentle breeze. The crowd watched in confusion. From the stands, people whispered. “Has the battle started yet?” “Why are they just standing there?” “Is something happening?” They couldn’t see the gravity. They couldn’t feel the pressure. All they saw was two mages standing still. But the second-year team knew. “He’s not affected,” Selene said, her voice barely a whisper. “At 300 times g

The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena. “Due to the chaotic nature of the battles so far, there will be a few changes to the competition stage.” The crowd murmured. “The barrier and the confined three-hundred-fifty-meter radius space might not be suitable for further battles. Therefore, the remaining matches will take place inside a virtual space created by advanced rules and magitech to simulate real-world three-dimensional space inside a finite space—transforming the normal arena into a virtually endless field.” The information was revolutionary. Magitech and runic magic that manipulated space on that level was basically unheard of. When the arena changed itself, it became undeniable. From outside, it seemed they were watching through a screen—a field that had become several times larger. But one where, if you were to enter, the field itself stretched as far as the eye could see. Aren observed the field with interest. “It seems I’ll have to look into this so-called m

Kairos and Brienne exchanged punches. Thousands per second. Each punch stronger than the last. The entire battlefield was destroyed as far as the eye could see. Everything shook violently—as if two worlds collided. Brienne caught one of his punches. She used his momentum to throw him upward. Kairos reached the upper atmosphere in less than three seconds. She followed him—closing the distance just as fast with a powerful leap. She cocked her fist. The air around it seemed to shatter. “Thin Ice Breaker!” She landed a powerful punch. The air itself shattered. Kairos crashed toward the earth at incredible force—the shockwave spread over a two-hundred-kilometer radius. Kairos was approaching the limit. He could feel his body starting to react to the strain of the technique. But he couldn’t stop. He clenched his fist tightly—pouring all his energy into one final punch. He knew he wouldn’t be able to continue with this. Brienne saw it. She followed suit. Although she was in a be

The forest had no end. Professor Thorne kept his eyes on the path, boots sinking into damp earth with every step. The trees around him were old—towering, thick-trunked, their branches woven so tightly overhead that only scattered shafts of sunlight reached the ground. The air was cold and carried the smell of wet bark and rotting leaves. The path was barely a path. A narrow trail winding between roots and under low-hanging branches, visible only because someone had walked it before. Thorne had been following it for hours. Twelve days on the road, he thought, adjusting the strap of his pack. I should have paid for a magic-beast transport. He had chosen to walk. He had chosen to travel slowly, to see the land with his own eyes, to arrive without announcement. A retired knight of the Aurelion Kingdom did not need to explain his movements—but a professor investigating a student’s background did. Especially this student. The forest thinned as the morning wore on, giving way to rocky

The Veyl territory was farmland. Thorne walked through it as the afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows across fields of wheat and barley. The air smelled of turned earth and livestock. Chickens scratched near a farmhouse. In the distance, a pair of oxen pulled a plow, guided by a man in simple clothes who did not look up as Thorne passed. No one did, at first. He was a stranger here—a tall, weathered man with a sword at his hip and the bearing of someone who had seen battle. But the people of the territory had learned long ago not to stare at strangers. They worked their fields, tended their animals, and lived their lives. Thorne observed them as he walked. Their routines were simple. Predictable. Unremarkable. A woman hung laundry while two children chased each other through the yard. A man repaired a fence with slow, methodical strokes of a hammer. An elderly couple sat on a porch, watching the fields in silence. This was the life Aren Veyl had come from. A farming co